


Saccharine (Short Version)

by SharkbaitHooHaHa



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (Rated T for mild body horror, Angst with a Happy Ending, Other, mild body horror, the words quite literally make him spit up black ooze.)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22776505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharkbaitHooHaHa/pseuds/SharkbaitHooHaHa
Summary: Every time Crowley tries to say 'I love you,' the words turn to tar in his throat.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 190





	Saccharine (Short Version)

Crowley learned early on that demons can’t say ‘I love you.’ Not those words, not in that order.

He had tried, as he and the angel parted ways after Eden. All he got out was an ‘I think I-’ before the words had choked him, turning heavy and saccharine as they burned their way up his throat. He had waved off Aziraphale’s concern as he dissolved into a coughing fit, getting out of there as fast as his corporation’s legs would carry him.

He had spent the rest of the day spitting up a tar-like substance, thick, black, and sickly sweet.

As they met again and again throughout history, ‘I think I’ turned into ‘I know I,’ but still, he couldn’t say it, no matter how hard he tried. He tried to tell himself that it was okay. If he couldn’t speak his love, he’d just have to show it, laying out his devotion in shared meals, last-minute rescues, an offer to go anywhere, a plea to run away.

He wasn’t sure if Aziraphale understood. He hoped he did.

And then Armageddon came and went, and they started spending more time together. Something in Aziraphale had changed. He was more open, less nervous. And when he said the words, he made it look so easy.

“I love you.” It was said around a laugh, with such affection that Crowley stopped moving, stopped breathing, could do naught but stare at Aziraphale in wonder.

After several moments, Crowley realized Aziraphale was waiting for a response.

He couldn’t. 

He would _try_.

Steeling himself, he took a deep breath and looked Aziraphale straight in the eye. Even if this didn’t work, he needed Aziraphale to see the truth.

“I l-” He felt the words transform in his throat again and coughed. “Lo-” The tar built up, gagging him, and he miracled a handkerchief (black, to hide the ugliness of what was coming up) to press to his lips as he choked and spluttered.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale reached out to him in concern.

Crowley held up a hand and Aziraphale’s fingers shrunk back. He would say it. He would _SAY. IT._

“I lov-” The words, mutilated and horrid, spilled past his lips, and he couldn’t get the handkerchief up fast enough to hide their remains from Aziraphale as they oozed off his tongue.

Aziraphale gasped in horror and Crowley turned away in shame. What must he think of him now?

But Aziraphale gently cupped his cheek and turned his head back towards him, and when Crowley dared to look, he saw only concern and mild panic, with no trace of disgust. “Crowley, talk to me, what’s happening?!”

“I can’t-” Crowley gasped out around the stickiness in his throat. “Demons can’t-” He was coughing again. “-can’t say it.” Tar dribbled from his lip and Aziraphale produced a bowl from somewhere for Crowley to spit into. He took it gratefully and turned away so Aziraphale wouldn’t have to see.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said once he turned back to him. His face was full of dismay. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” His thumb wiped away some of the tar at the corner of his lip, and Crowley was surprised when he showed no aversion to touching the wretched, twisted love that Crowley produced. “I don’t- You don’t have to say it, darling, I already know.”

Crowley coughed pathetically into his handkerchief again, and the distress on Aziraphale’s face grew.

“I can fix that,” he said, his hand moving down to Crowley’s neck. “May I?”

Crowley nodded.

Instead of using his hands, as Crowley expected, Aziraphale leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss to the column of Crowley’s throat. A tingling sensation spread over him and suddenly, he could breathe again.

“Thanks,” Crowley said softly as angry, frustrated tears stung his eyes. He went to wipe at his mouth but found that Aziraphale had already miracled away the mess. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, using a hand to shield his eyes so Azirphale wouldn’t see him cry.

“Crowley, don’t,” Aziraphale said, moving his hand back up to cradle Crowley’s face. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay!” Crowley spat angrily. “I can’t even tell you that I love you, I don’t deser-” Crowley froze. It shouldn’t have been possible for Aziraphale to heal him in that way, and judging by the surprise on the angel’s face as Crowley lowered his hand, he knew it, too. And yet… “I love you.”

An awed smile spread on Aziraphale’s face. “How-?”

“I love you,” Crowley repeated, louder and more confidant. “I love you. I love you!” 

Aziraphale was positively beaming, now. “I love you, Crowley.”

Crowley grinned. “I love you, too.” He could say it. “I love you.” And Somebody help him, but he’d never stop. “I lov-”

Okay, so there was one way he’d stop. But that was only with Aziraphale’s lips covering his own.


End file.
